


Book of Golden Stories

by spilled_notes



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Holby City, The Night Circus - Erin Morgenstern
Genre: AU, Canon Divergent, Crossover, F/F, Reunion, Sabbatical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-01-17 20:05:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12373062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilled_notes/pseuds/spilled_notes
Summary: A place to gather various Tumblr prompts. Expect canon compliance, canon divergence, and AUs of varying degrees of crazy!





	1. The Day Before You Came

_If only I’d known_ , Serena thinks, hurrying around the house tidying up, _that she was coming._

Because it was just a normal day for her – spent out among the rows and rows of vines laden with reddening grapes, pruning – until Bernie phoned. For weeks now she’s been longing for Bernie’s presence beside her – or at least there when she gets back at the end of the day – with every step, every snip. She’s not ready to go back yet, but she _is_ ready to be with Bernie. They’ve talked about Bernie coming to visit but only ever in the abstract, as something that will happen at some unspecified point in the future.

And now, all of a sudden, it’s not abstract and unspecified but real and concrete and _tomorrow_. And Serena is anxious. Because what if she’s changed too much, in her absence? What is _Bernie’s_ changed too much in her absence? What if they don’t fit any more, if she’s too much or not enough for Bernie?

They keep her awake most of the night, these what ifs, despite how tiring the lingering cloud of grief and depression is when combined with the hard work of tending the vines.

Luc told her to take the day off. Serena finally falls asleep just as the sun starts to peek above the horizon, dozes for a few hours and then flits around the house, too nervous and excited to eat or settle to anything. She walks to the market and restocks the kitchen then joins the others for lunch, lets them ply her with bread and cheese and tomatoes, joins them in the vineyard and finds her trembling hands still when she has a pair of secateurs in them, surgeon’s instinct kicking in when faced with a sharp blade.

They all know who Bernie is to her by now, who Bernie was to her, who she hopes she still is; Bernie is what she talks about the most, she’s never been so effusive about a lover before, never been unable to stop herself talking about anyone like this. So they all know how important today is, all wish her luck with a warm look or a hand on her shoulder when she leaves. She showers and tidies herself up, then borrows Luc’s little blue Citroen to drive into town.

She’s early, of course, sits in the car for ten long minutes with her eyes closed and her hands clasped so tight her knuckles whiten. Takes a deep breath and gets out when it’s not ridiculously early to be stood on the platform waiting.

She berates herself for being so nervous because it’s Bernie, and her heart still burns with love for her. Because Bernie is running _towards_ her, and she knows she’s the only person Bernie has ever run towards.

Their eyes meet, and Serena feels like she’s in _Brief Encounter_ but with added commuters and no steam. The smile that lights Bernie’s face is the brightest thing she’s ever seen.


	2. because you asked me to

_No one’s ever run after Bernie before,_ Serena thinks once she’s calmed down a little, once she’s wiped her eyes. There’s no need to make another scene, to add more grist to the rumour mill – so she finishes her shift, freshens her lipstick and fluffs her hair, and then drives over to Bernie’s.

_We’d planned to have dinner,_ she reasons as she pulls up. _Neither of us cancelled._

A deep breath, and then she knocks on the door. When Bernie opens it she looks like a rabbit caught in headlights. Her mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out.

‘If you think I’m letting you waltz off to bloody Ukraine without a fight then you really don’t know me at all,’ Serena says, sounding far braver than she feels.

Bernie stares at her, then drops her head in defeat and steps to one side so Serena can come in. She only takes one step past her, then stops and turns. The hall is narrow; when Bernie turns around they’re as close as they were in the office.

Serena doesn’t think. She reaches for Bernie – lunges for her, really – presses her against the wall and presses their lips together, hard.

‘Serena, I–’ Bernie pants when she draws away for breath, her eyes tightly shut.

‘Don’t,’ Serena says, placing one finger on Bernie’s lips, the touch startling her eyes open. ‘Just let me–?’

Bernie nods. Serena steps back, leans against the opposite wall.

‘I meant what I said. I’m not going to stand in your way.’

‘Ok,’ Bernie says slowly, frowning.

‘But I also meant it when I kissed you.’

‘Ok,’ Bernie repeats, a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth.

‘So I want us to have dinner, just like we agreed.’

‘ _Just_ like we agreed?’ Bernie asks, reaching out, her eyes dark.

‘Just,’ Serena confirms, tangling their fingers.

So they have dinner, carefully don’t talk about Kyiv, or the Higsons, or what Serena said. And then Serena leans across the corner of the table and kisses Bernie again, licks the taste of wine and garlic from her mouth, swallows her moans and drags her upright, drags her from the kitchen and, stumbling, to Bernie’s bed.

When Serena wakes, it’s early. She starts to slip out of bed, intending to go home because she can’t bear a proper goodbye, doesn’t know that she’ll be able to keep her promise to herself and not spill her heart out over breakfast. But behind her Bernie stirs and reaches out, fingers clumsily grasping at her arm.

‘Stay,’ she murmurs, barely even half awake.

So Serena does. Bernie – a surprise cuddler – nestles into her, curls around her, presses warm lips and then a cold nose to her shoulder.

‘Stay,’ Serena whispers when she thinks Bernie’s properly asleep again, closing her eyes against the sting of tears.

They don’t talk about it in the morning – don’t have time, because Serena needs to be in early. Serena won’t let herself think about it all morning. Instead she thinks about last night, about Bernie’s body, about the bite mark on her left shoulder.

Bernie arrives after lunch, bearing coffee. ‘I’ve been to see Mr Hanssen,’ she says quietly.

‘Oh?’ Serena says, trying to squash down the hope, not trusting herself to look at Bernie in case she bursts into tears.

Bernie pulls the door to behind her, walks closer. ‘He wasn’t best pleased when I told him I’d changed my mind.’

Serena looks at her sharply, eyes wide and brow furrowed. ‘What?’

‘You see, what I really want,’ Bernie says a little hesitantly. ‘What I really want is you, Serena. So much that it scares me.’

‘You’re– you’re staying?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you gave me a reason to. Because it’s time for me to be brave. Because– because you asked me to.’

‘I thought you were asleep,’ Serena whispers. ‘I’d never–’

‘I know,’ Bernie smiles.

She’s close enough now that when Serena stands she only has to take one step to bring her arms around Bernie, to bury her face in Bernie’s shoulder as Bernie buries hers in Serena’s hair.

‘Are you sure?’ Serena murmurs, voice muffled slightly by Bernie’s shirt.

‘Yes,’ Bernie whispers into her ear.


	3. if you’re going my way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's another post-'Life In The Freezer' fix, using the same starting sentence as the previous one (because it wanted to go in two directions and I'm indecisive).

_No one’s ever run after Bernie before,_ Serena thinks in the back of the taxi, hands clutching the strap of her handbag as she watches the unfamiliar city pass.

_It’s all Raf’s fault, really,_ she thinks as they pull up outside the hospital. _One drunken comment and suddenly we’re looking at flights, and now here I am._

She gazes up at the entrance then takes a steeling breath. ‘Pull yourself together, Campbell,’ she mutters.

One hospital is very much like another – even if all the signs are in a language she doesn’t understand. She asks for directions instead, walks down endless corridors. It isn’t until she’s outside the doors leading to the shiny new trauma unit that the enormity of it hits her: that Bernie left her – ran from her – and might not even want to see her. This could be it, forever, and she isn’t sure she’s ready for that.

But before she can turn and hurry away the doors open and a crowd of doctors and nurses spill out; the end of a shift looks the same the world over too.

Bernie is at the back, separated from the rest by the distance of a few paces. The distance grows when she sees Serena, her eyes widening and her mouth dropping and her feet freezing.

‘Serena?’ she breathes, looking at her in disbelief. ‘But I– you– I said–’

‘I know what you said,’ Serena says, taking one step towards her. ‘And I know what _I_ said.’ Another step. ‘And I think maybe we were both a little – hasty?’ She’s close enough to touch her now, but doesn’t.

‘Why– why are you here?’

‘Because all I can think about is you,’ Serena says honestly. ‘And I think Raf’s just about to kill me if I don’t do something about it.’

Bernie doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just stares at her.

‘But if you don’t want me here I’ll–’

‘I do,’ Bernie says, her hand shooting out to grasp Serena’s arm. ‘I, uh, I owe you an explanation. And dinner.’

‘Why don’t we just start with dinner?’ Serena suggests, hearing the note of panic in Bernie’s voice. ‘And see where we go from there?’

Bernie nods, worries her lip between her teeth. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she says quietly.

‘I’m here now,’ Serena soothes, gently touching Bernie’s knuckles.

Bernie’s eyes are so wide and soft and fearful, and Serena smiles a little, tries to reassure her without words because she keep choosing the wrong ones when it comes to Bernie and she doesn’t want to make the same mistake again.

‘I won’t make any declarations,’ she promises, and feels Bernie become a little less tense.

‘And if I were to kiss you?’ Bernie asks, moving a little closer.

‘No complaints here,’ Serena smiles, her eyebrow arched in challenge.

‘I’d best take you home then,’ Bernie murmurs, their gazes locked, their noses almost touching.

‘How very forward of you, Ms Wolfe,’ Serena teases, her eyes sparkling. She slips her arm through Bernie’s, gently grips the crook of her elbow. ‘Lead on, then.’


	4. you said it was over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed that fixes following Brave New World tend to have Serena being the one who makes the first move - so I thought I'd try it the other way around.

Bernie thinks about it all the time: Serena’s fingers in her hair, Serena’s waist under her hand, Serena’s lips against hers. Thinks about it at least a dozen times every hour, every time she sees Serena. It’s alien to her, this obsession; she was never like this over Alex, not even at the passionate height of their affair. She thinks about doing it again: a kiss good morning when she hands Serena her coffee, a kiss goodnight outside Albie’s. Pressing her against the office door, grasping her scrubs and drawing her close in the locker room, crowding her into the corner of an otherwise empty lift.

She thinks she might be brave enough now to be who she really is, to start letting go of her shame and guilt. But Serena doesn’t want that, doesn’t want _her_. Every time Bernie feels the urge to kiss her she remembers how uncomfortable Serena was, how she said she wished she were dead. Sometimes, though, she thinks Serena is flirting with her. More than her usual level of flirting, that is. _People are so confusing_ , she thinks with a sigh as she sits on the roof gazing across the city, hair whipping around her face as church bells ring out three o’ clock.

Her pager goes: it’s Serena. For the first time that hour, Bernie thinks of kissing her.

*

It’s becoming harder and harder to resist. Every lingering glance from Serena weakens her resolve. Every teasing comment, every touch, every time their eyes meet in theatre and Serena’s seem to glint with something more than the bright lights over their heads.

They have a long, difficult shift together. Bernie can’t face either Albie’s, with its raucous crowd of colleagues, or her empty flat and a solitary whiskey. Right now all she wants is Serena’s company, for as long as possible. She looks across the office at Serena, lingering as she pulls on her coat, and doesn’t think she can face Albie’s or solitude either. She’s still a little surprised when Serena agrees to her suggestion of grabbing a bite to eat though, still floored by the way Serena’s face and eyes light up and the weariness seems to drop from her shoulders. Thinks about kissing Serena when she slips an arm through hers and they leave side by side, pressed together.

_Maybe suggesting this place was a mistake,_ she thinks when Serena’s eyes flutter closed and she moans at the first taste of her torta di mele.

Not for the first time, either. The table is so small that their feet knock. The candle between them makes everything so intimate and romantic, makes Serena’s eyes sparkle; so does the way she smiles and laughs, apparently delighted by Bernie’s company. The wine list is extensive and Serena is indulging, Bernie more than happy to let her choose what they drink; her eyes keep catching on Serena’s Shiraz-red lips, on her throat when she swallows, on the fingers loosely wrapped around the stem of her glass.

It’s the apple pie, though, that’s the final straw; or, more precisely, Serena’s moan. Bernie’s only heard that sound leave Serena’s throat once before, the first time their mouths opened and their tongues touched.

Serena opens her eyes and looks at Bernie; they’re dark and burning, and sitting this close Bernie can see just how dilated her pupils are. She thinks about kissing her again, about leaning across the table and kissing her, realises she’d probably knock over both their wine glasses and set fire to her shirt so doesn’t. But she lets her gaze drop to Serena’s lips, very deliberately licks her own and, over the soft music and talk of their fellow diners, hears Serena’s sharp intake of breath and hard swallow.

She waits until they’re outside. Not hidden away in a dark corner of the car park but right under a street lamp because she isn’t ashamed and she doesn’t want to hide this, and she doesn’t want to miss a single flicker of Serena’s expression. So she stops in the pool of light, and when Serena turns to her and frowns she tugs her closer, and when Serena opens her mouth to ask what’s wrong she kisses her.

Serena doesn’t hesitate, beyond a split second of shock. One hand instantly snakes around Bernie’s waist, the other sliding around the back of her neck and into her hair. When Bernie licks into her mouth, tasting coffee and chocolate and Shiraz, she moans that same, wanting moan and Bernie draws her even closer.

‘You said it was over,’ Serena murmurs between kisses. ‘You said confined to theatre.’

‘I was an idiot,’ Bernie admits. ‘I was scared. I should’ve asked what you wanted. I’m sorry.’

‘I’m sure I’ll manage to forgive you. Especially if you keep kissing me like this.’

‘No lifelong, take it to the grave grudge?’ Bernie asks, half serious, half teasing.

‘Apparently not where you’re concerned.’

‘You’re sure about this, about us?’ Bernie asks, pushing Serena from her a little so she can study her face.

‘Yes,’ Serena replies. ‘I panicked before, and I’m sorry. But I’ve had ample time to think about it, about you. About kissing you – god, how I’ve thought about kissing you, Bernie.’

‘I’ve thought about it too,’ Bernie says softly. ‘Almost constantly.’

‘You know,’ Serena says, leaning closer again, ‘Jason’s not back ‘til Thursday.’

Bernie gazes into her eyes, feels the breath rush from her lungs, feels almost faint and grips Serena’s elbow harder to keep herself upright. ‘Taxi?’ she suggests hoarsely.

Serena brushes one last, lingering kiss to her lips, laces their fingers and tugs Bernie after her, laughing when Bernie stumbles over her feet. ‘My place or yours?’ she asks, voice low and throaty and rich.

‘Mine’s closer,’ Bernie blurts before she can stop herself.

‘Eager, are we?’ Serena teases. But her own impatience shows in how fast she walks them to the taxi rank, how she taps her foot when they have to wait, how she presses Bernie against the outside of her front door and kisses her deeply, both hands cradling her face.

*

Bernie thinks about it all the time: Serena’s fingers in her hair, Serena’s waist under her hand, Serena’s lips against hers. Thinks about it at least a dozen times every hour, every time she sees Serena. It’s alien to her, this obsession, but gradually becoming less so.

And now she can do something about it.


	5. standing on the landing with the war you shouldered all the night before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Serena/Kate Stewart crossover, part of the same AU as [this.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11198961)

Kate gets back at four in the morning, all tense and wired and exhausted, adrenaline quickly draining now she’s alone, now she’s home. Now she’s not Kate Stewart, Head of Scientific Research at UNIT, but Kate Stewart, woman and mother and wife. She drags herself up the stairs, too tired to even try avoiding the creaks, looks through the open bedroom door and watches Serena stir; the lamp is still on and she clearly fell asleep while reading, her book nowhere to be seen but a bookmark discarded on the duvet.

‘You’re home,’ Serena says hoarsely, eyes just open.

‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you,’ Kate croaks, her throat sore from hours of negotiating and barking orders.

Serena shuffles vaguely upright, rubs her eyes and gazes at Kate. She doesn’t know exactly what’s been going on today – last night, yesterday – but from what Kate was able to tell her over the phone she knows it was a major incident, knows her wife has probably just saved the planet from war or invasion or annihilation.

‘Come on, love,’ she says softly, pulling Kate’s pyjamas out from under her pillow and patting the mattress beside her.

Kate pushes herself off the doorframe, flicks off the landing light and slowly crosses the room, limbs and eyelids suddenly heavy with exhaustion. Somehow she struggles out of her suit, not bothering to pick it up off the floor let alone drop her shirt into the laundry basket or hang her jacket. Another professional layer stripped away, another reminder of her day removed.

Wearily she pulls on her pyjamas and flops into bed. Serena instantly drapes herself over Kate, nestles into her and holds her. ‘I’ve got you,’ she whispers, just like she does after every incident. ‘I’ve got you, darling. Let it all go for now.’

From where her head rests on Kate’s chest Serena quietly tells her about the book she was reading, her low, beloved voice wiping away more of the stress and chaos and terror of the day with each word.

Until Kate manages to nuzzle into Serena’s hair and press a kiss to the top of her head, until she manages to wrap her arms around Serena and whisper, ‘I love you.’ Until her eyes fall closed and, surrounded by her wife’s arms and scent and voice, she sees only darkness rather than the war room and the threat that had filled their screens.

Tomorrow – today – she’ll have to take up the mantle again, shoulder the burden of dealing with the aftermath. For now, though? For now, nothing outside this room – this bed, the circle of Serena’s arms – matters.


	6. this isn’t going to work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how the summary says 'varying degrees of crazy'? Well, this is one of the more crazy snippets. This crossover has been knocking around my head (and notebooks) for a while but never made it any further. I don't know if I'll ever write anything more than this, but either way may I present, for your perusal: Berena as Discworld assassins.

‘This isn’t going to work,’ Bernie rages, storming into Hanssen’s office without knocking, flinging the door open with such force that the handle slams into the wall and a chunk of painted plaster drops to the floor.

‘Ms Wolfe,’ Hanssen says calmly, steepling his fingers and gazing at her. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’m not working with her on this,’ Bernie fumes, brandishing a piece of paper at him.

‘Who?’

‘Oh, you know very well who. She might be a tutor here but she isn’t a member of the Guild. Has she even inhumed anybody?’

‘ _She_ is sitting right here,’ comes a dry voice from behind Bernie.

Bernie freezes. She gazes helplessly at Hanssen, but he offers no assistance merely appears slightly amused, then slowly turns around to find Serena comfortably ensconced in one of the leather armchairs in front of the fire, Hanssen’s dog curled at her feet. She cocks her head and arches one eyebrow; Bernie blushes but manages to hold her gaze.

‘You know I respect you, Serena – as a teacher, a colleague. A friend, even. But this is the biggest contract I’ve had since my injury, and you’re hardly the obvious person to be assigned a related contract. You’re not even an assassin, for goodness sake.’

‘I may not have trained at your precious Guild,’ Serena says coolly, a trace of venom in her voice. ‘And I may not have quite the inhumation record that you do. But I can assure you I most certainly _am_ an assassin.’

They stare at each other, Hanssen forgotten, until the dog raises its head and whines at the tension in the room.

‘You never said,’ Bernie mutters, dropping her gaze to the floor.

‘Never relevant, was it?’ Serena shrugs.

‘I would not have paired you with Ms Campbell if I had even the slightest doubt about her capabilities,’ Hanssen says quietly. ‘Do you trust my judgement, Ms Wolfe?’

Bernie looks at him, then at Serena, then back at him again. ‘I do,’ she concedes.

‘The right answer,’ he smiles. ‘Now, I suggest you both return to your duties and then work together to formulate a plan. I do not need to know the details merely if you will require any Guild resources, monetary or otherwise.’

He looks down at the papers on his desk and picks up his pen. When it becomes clear he has nothing more to say Bernie strides from the office; she’s half way down the corridor by the time Serena has closed the door on her way out.

‘Bernie!’ she calls.

Bernie halts but doesn’t turn around, jams her hands into her pockets and ducks her head as Serena catches her up.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Bernie mutters. ‘I feel such a fool. I thought we were friends.’

‘We _are_ ,’ Serena insists, lightly touching Bernie’s arm. ‘I just–’ She sighs. ‘It’s been a while. Don’t worry,’ she adds quickly. ‘I still know what I’m doing. I won’t slow you down or compromise you.’

‘From what I know of you, you’re never less than excellent at anything you do. I’m not expecting this to be anything different.’

Serena smiles at this, flushes a little at the compliment. ‘I must admit, I am rather looking forward to seeing you in your element. Going to be quite a treat: the great Berenice Wolfe in action.’

*

‘Still worried this isn’t going to work?’ Serena asks late that evening as she tops up their wine glasses. They’ve spent the time since dinner in Serena’s study, comparing notes on their contracts and skill sets, sharing tales of past inhumations.

‘Not at all,’ Bernie grins. ‘I fact I think we may well turn out to be supremely well-suited.’

‘Equals, even,’ Serena says, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. ‘Here’s to a fruitful partnership.’ she says, raising her glass.

‘And two successful inhumations,’ Bernie adds, leaning forward to tap her glass against Serena’s.

Their gazes remain locked as they both take a sip, and Bernie feels a quiver in her stomach that she knows has nothing to do with the size of the contract and everything to do with the prospect of working with Serena.


	7. outrageous fortune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Night Circus AU.

Serena McKinnie doesn’t believe in magic or divination. She does, however, believe in a good night out, so it doesn’t take much persuasion from Sian to get her to agree to visit the circus that has sprung up overnight on the outskirts of the city. Together they wander between and around and into the black and white striped tents, watch the contortionist and the acrobats, the origami animals and the sword eaters, sipping steaming mulled cider and eating fluffy caramel popcorn.

And then they find themselves outside a small tent whose sign reads ‘Fortune-Teller’. Sian has pulled Serena inside before she can protest, into an old fashioned parlour with a chandelier and chairs upholstered in black and white velvet.

‘Come in, please,’ comes a soft voice from behind an almost sheer curtain embroidered with the same design as the chairs.

Now they’re here Sian’s courage seems to have deserted her. So with a sigh Serena walks towards the rippling fabric. _It’s just a trick,_ she reminds herself before she steps through. _No such thing as prophecy, just a convincing story._

*

Serena visits every time the circus comes even remotely close, both in England and when she’s at Harvard. She isn’t a rêveur, doesn’t wear a red scarf and chase the circus across countries and continents, but something about it captures her and draws her back time after time. And somehow she doesn’t find herself compelled to explain away its wonders with science, just accepts it and allows herself to be awed.

She visits different tents each time, wonders if she’ll ever see them all or if the circus is constantly expanding just like the universe, but without meaning to she always ends up in front of the fortune-teller. The first time she finds herself there again she turns to leave – there are plenty of unvisited tents left for her to see and she’s already had her fortune told, so why bother for a second time? But the same soft voice tells her to stay, to come in and sit down, so she does.

It isn’t quite exactly the same as on her first visit, is never quite exactly the same. A ripple effect, the woman explains, each decision Serena makes impacting her future.

There is one constant every time, though: a twining of great hardship and great love, and in the midst of it all a woman who, with each visit, becomes of ever-greater significance to her future self.

*          *          *

The first time Bernie visits the circus it is with her cousin. Skeptics both, they share theories on how the extraordinary feats in each monochrome tent are accomplished in between sips of cocoa and chocolate mice with almond ears and liquorice tails.

‘Maybe you should ask the fortune-teller about Marcus,’ Kate suggests drily when they pass the small tent. ‘Future Bernie could help Present Bernie make a decision.’

Bernie laughs – but then slips inside. She doesn’t believe in prophecy but perhaps it will offer another perspective. And besides, what harm could it do?

She never tells Kate what the soft voiced fortune-teller said to her. Never tells anyone, locks it away in her heart and tries her best to forget about it: about the two dark haired women who will bring great passion and all the running she will do, because she recognises too much of herself in that and she doesn’t want any of it to be true.

*

The next time Bernie visits it is years later and she is in a foreign country; she’s homesick, and the black and white striped tents remind her of England and her cousin and _before_. She stands in front of the bonfire with a hot cocoa and a bag of chocolate mice, closes her eyes to savour both and feels surprised when she opens them and Kate isn’t standing beside her. This time she wanders alone, wonders what Kate would have to say about each of the new tents she discovers.

She doesn’t visit the fortune-teller. Just passing the tent and reading the sign is enough to bring back the words, as clear as the night they were spoken despite her best efforts to forget them. That night she dreams of dark hair and curves, curses herself for having returned to the circus and dredged it all up again.

*          *          *

‘She’s close, I think,’ the fortune-teller tells Serena. She does not need to specify who. ‘Time can be difficult to read, I’m afraid, but she appears to be bound up in your immediate future now. It will be a time of deep emotion – both good and bad. New people will enter your life, and others will leave. And you have a journey ahead of you with many forks in the road.’

‘A lot of decisions, then,’ Serena murmurs. ‘When aren’t there?’

The fortune-teller smiles a small smile and inclines her head.

‘But I’ll meet her at last, this woman you keep going on about?’ Serena asks. She’s starting to wonder if there isn’t something in this fortune telling lark after all; over the years the woman has predicted many of the major events in her life – a higher proportion than chance, Serena thinks. She finds herself hoping this will come true as well, is almost desperate to meet her tall, beautiful stranger after so long.

‘Yes, I’m certain of it. There are few things I’ve ever seen so clearly.’

*

Bernie’s avoidance of the circus comes to an end when Charlotte mentions an interest in visiting. It’s a bit of a journey so they make a weekend of it, the last quality time they’ll have alone together before Bernie is deployed again. She tries not to think about how her fortune has been coming true: about how she ran from her problems to the Army, about the dark-haired woman who kissed her in the middle of a desert.

The small tent appears in front of them as if Bernie’s thoughts have conjured it. Charlotte drags her inside eagerly and Bernie is reluctant to spoil their night by refusing, sits in one of the black and white chairs while her daughter passes behind the curtain and leaps up as soon as she comes back out. But she’s not quick enough, and the soft voice she can’t help remembering calls her in.

‘Oh,’ the woman says, not quite managing to disguise the fall of her face and the concern in her voice.

‘Promising start,’ Bernie says sarcastically, sitting back in her chair and folding her arms.

‘Your future is very unclear. Lives will hang in the balance – yours, and those of people you do not yet know but who will become dear to you. Revelations. Running – away from, yes, but also towards.’

‘Towards what?’ Bernie can’t help asking, despite herself.

‘Not what,’ the fortune-teller smiles, ‘but who.’

*          *          *

‘You didn’t tell me I was going to fall in love with her,’ Serena says almost accusingly some years later.

The fortune-teller looks up at the interruption, then looks through the sheer curtain and sees a tall, slender figure with messy hair. The circus is just outside Sorrento, has been there almost a fortnight, and she wonders what these two women are doing here.

‘Come in,’ she calls, smiling.

Bernie steps through the curtain reluctantly, takes the hand Serena holds out and lets herself be pulled further inside. The fortune-teller sees matching gold bands glinting on their fingers, sees how fresh and polished the metal is and how their eyes sparkle too, how their bodies arc closer and they look both exhausted and exhilarated.

‘Do you wish to know your fortune?’ she asks, deciding to waive her fee as a wedding gift. She’s been following their relationship for years, after all, since before it was anything other than one possibility among many.

‘No, thank you,’ Bernie replies firmly. ‘I know what my future holds,’ she adds, smiling as she gazes at Serena.

When they’ve gone, hands still firmly clasped, the fortune-teller reads for them anyway, and smiles to herself at what she sees.


	8. our universe is not this one; i can live with that (but i cannot bear it)

In one universe they are the best of friends. Bernie does not fall head over heels, they do not kiss, Serena does not have a mid-life Sapphic revelation. They are still inseparable, are still each other’s first port of call, still love each other fiercely – but it is never other than platonic, in thought or in deed.

*

In another universe Serena _had_ kissed a girl in Stepney. When Bernie kisses her she doesn’t panic because she has already acknowledged and accepted this part of herself. There is no awkwardness or confusion, no crossed wires, no suggesting keeping things confined to theatre. Serena kisses Bernie back just as enthusiastically, when the next theatre team comes in looks at her with burning eyes and murmurs, ‘Later,’ with such wanting that Bernie moans.

*

In another universe Bernie is not a coward and does not run to Kyiv when Serena mentions falling in love.

In another she does go but Serena comes to visit her, and Bernie speeds through her work as quickly as possible so she can come home to her.

In yet another she runs and stays far longer than she should have, but when she finally comes back she tells Serena she couldn’t stop thinking about her, and Serena kisses her like it’s the only thing she’s wanted to do the entire time they were apart.

*

In this universe, though? In this universe Bernie comes back from Ukraine ready to beg Serena’s forgiveness with a poorly wrapped bottle of wine and a speech she spent the entire journey writing and rewriting in her head, ready to expose her heart and confess her feelings – only to find that Serena has moved on.

It’s hardly her place to complain, of course, or to comment at all really. She was the one who left, after all, the one who didn’t reply to Serena’s texts or emails, thereby relinquishing any stake in Serena’s love life.

She makes an effort to like Robbie, because Serena seems happy and he and Jason are getting on, squashes down the longing every time she sees them together – the feeling that _that could have been me_. She volunteers to work the Christmas Day shift so Serena can have it off, spends the evening with Cam and Charlotte and ignores the ache in her heart when Serena sends her a selfie complete with paper hat and mince pie, feels Cam hug her a little tighter and is grateful he doesn’t say anything.

Time moves on. The problem is, however much she tries, Bernie does not. She has accepted that they were not meant to be, takes some measure of comfort from the many worlds theory, from the thought that somewhere there is a version of reality in which she wasn’t a coward and they are happy together – even if it can’t be this reality. Serena is happy, and that’s what matters most. They’re friends still, somehow; Jason likes her and even Elinor more than tolerates her. She’s a part of Serena’s family and is allowed to love her and care for her and see her vulnerable. It’s enough, it’s more than she deserves really. If only her heart would get the message.

Bernie is hardly unused to unrequited love or hiding her feelings, but she allows herself to flirt with Serena because Serena flirts with her, and that’s just how they are; in theatre it’s like nothing has changed. But then they’ll step out onto the ward and Robbie will be waiting in their office, will greet Serena with a kiss and take her out for dinner, and Bernie will be left alone, fists clenched and eyes screwed shut, her carefully constructed, calm acceptance momentarily shaken.

It becomes easier, with time. And then it becomes harder again, for no discernible reason. Bernie finds herself wondering if acceptance has an expiry date, wonders if there’s only so much of Serena she can be exposed to before she’ll lose her mind. Serena goes through a rough patch with Robbie, and it takes all of Bernie’s willpower not to tell her to just dump him. She watches as Robbie grovels with expensive bouquets and jewellery and dinner, as Serena forgives him and begins to smile more again, as they talk of moving in together. She forces a smile, ignores Serena’s questioning frown, hides behind her fringe because she can’t risk Serena seeing the anguish in her eyes. Because that would be it, wouldn’t it – the end of there being even the slightest chance for her? But maybe it would be for the best.

‘For god’s sake would you just do something about it?’ Dom pleads one afternoon on the roof. He knows, of course – she told him, had to tell someone and trusts him, but he’d probably have known anyway.

‘I can’t. She’s happy, I’m not going to selfishly ruin that. I had my chance, I messed it up.’

‘Is she really, though? I mean, is she actually truly happy?’ he asks, and Bernie frowns. ‘Sure she’s happy enough, but I think maybe she’s just settling.’

Bernie stares at him, eyes wide and brows knotted.

‘You’re not the only one who’s pining, Bernie,’ Dom says gently. ‘I’ve seen the way she looks at you.’

‘But what about Robbie? And why hasn’t she just said something?’

‘Oh I don’t know, maybe the way you buggered off to the other side of the continent at the first mention of feelings might have something to do with it?’

‘I was such an idiot,’ Bernie moans, burying her face in her hands. ‘A stupid, cowardly idiot.’

‘Well, yes,’ Dom agrees, bumping his shoulder against hers. ‘But you could start being brave.’

Bernie has always found bravery to be fleeting, to need seizing in the instant before it drains away. She thinks about what Dom said as she jogs down the stairs, thinks about how Serena has looked at her and smiled at her – compares it to how she smiles at Robbie and thinks she comes out on top. She bursts onto AAU ready to do – she isn’t quite sure what, but _something_.

There’s a huddle of junior doctors and nurses around the nurses station, all looking towards the office with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Bernie’s about to ask why no work is getting done despite them having a ward full of patients when she hear Serena’s raised voice.

‘No, Robbie, I am _not_ retiring and moving to the bloody Cotswolds with you! I don’t know what ever gave you the idea that that was something I wanted.’

‘But Serena, we could–’

‘No,’ she says firmly. ‘Clearly you don’t know me at all, haven’t been listening to me all these months.’

‘I just thought you wanted the same thing as me.’

‘I don’t,’ Serena says icily. ‘I think you should leave.’

‘Fine. I’ll see you later?’

‘I don’t think so, Robbie.’

‘You mean you’re breaking up with me – over this?’ he asks incredulously, and Bernie barely keeps from rolling her eyes as she exchanges a glance with Raf. ‘Seriously, Serena?’

It goes quiet for a few minutes, Robbie clearly trying to convince Serena. And then the door opens and everyone pretends to be working as he walks out and leaves the ward.

Bernie gives it a moment and then firmly orders everyone to get on, takes a deep breath and goes into the office, closing the door behind her. Serena is sat at her desk, shaking with anger and tears; when Bernie touches her shoulder she melts into her, allows herself to be held.

Bernie joins her and Jason for tea that evening, Serena sitting close to her and snuggling in as they watch Mary Beard.

‘I’m just so cross with myself, Bernie,’ she admits when Jason has gone up to his room. ‘I should’ve realised he wasn’t joking when he said I should retire.’

‘He was an idiot if he couldn’t see how much you love medicine,’ Bernie says softly, squeezing her shoulder.

‘Thank you,’ Serena smiles.

‘You’re very welcome,’ Bernie replies.

She can’t do anything now, she thinks. It would look opportunistic, would seem like she’s preying on Serena when she’s weak and vulnerable – not that Serena is either of those things, although she is dull for a little while, cross and disappointed with herself. Bernie plies her with coffee and treats, takes her to the cinema, cooks dinner for her and Jason, even does some of her paperwork for her so she can spend more time in theatre, does everything she can to make her happy. One morning she comes in with her spark back, and Bernie is lost all over again. It’s just like before, all flirting and teasing, and Serena is so happy Bernie decides she isn’t going to rock the boat.

‘Idiot,’ Dom says frankly when she tells him. ‘Can’t you see this is _exactly_ where you were before? It’s like you’ve been offered a chance to go back in time and get it right – why wouldn’t you take it?’

But Bernie ignores him and does nothing, because what they have now is wonderful. Until Jasmine is injured and they have to fight for her life. Until they’re slumped together on the floor of the theatre and Serena says shakily that this was all her fault, that if she hadn’t shouted at Jasmine then she wouldn’t have left the ward, would have been safe.

Bernie looks at her, stunned. ‘This isn’t your fault, Serena. How could you possibly have known this would happen? And Jasmine thinks the world of you, thinks you’re the best surgeon in the entire hospital.’

‘Jasmine thinks Jac’s the best surgeon in the hospital,’ Serena corrects her.

‘Ok, yes,’ Bernie admits. ‘But she’s biased. I happen to think you’re an incredible doctor though. Pretty incredible woman all round, really.’

‘Aren’t you biased too?’ Serena asks – almost hopefully, Bernie thinks.

She’s struck with such a strong sense of déjà vu, wonders if Serena is thinking of the first time they kissed too, wonders what feelings the memory stirs in her. And then she sees Serena’s eyes flick down to her lips and she thinks, _fuck it, I can’t bear it any longer, consequences be damned._

Serena meets her halfway, grasps her gown and moans against her lips.

‘Definitely biased,’ Bernie murmurs when they draw apart for breath, foreheads resting together.

Serena laughs, opens her eyes and gazes into Bernie’s. ‘We’re going to get it right this time,’ she vows, fingers carding through Bernie’s hair.

‘Yes,’ Bernie agrees, lips ghosting across Serena’s again, again, smiling at the feel of Serena’s smile.

‘Starting,’ Serena says on her third attempt, once she’s forced herself to pull back just out of Bernie’s reach, ‘with you coming home with me tonight.’


	9. I knew I loved you before I met you

Serena sits at her kitchen table, flips open the pad of off-white letter paper and uncaps her fountain pen.

‘Dear Bernie,’ she starts. She pauses for a moment, slips a letter out of an envelope and unfolds it to read again, picks up a small photograph from the table and gazes at it, smiling.

‘It’s been grey and damp here today,’ she continues, a smile still playing across her lips. ‘The sort of day that made me almost glad to be stuck in meetings all morning and in theatre all afternoon. Certainly not picnic weather! I’m hoping for a return to crisp autumn days soon – a chill in the air and all those glorious colours as the leaves turn. I know how much you miss it and I know this isn’t the same, but I picked this leaf up earlier in the week thinking it would give you a taste (if it even survives the journey, that is!).’

She picks the yellow-orange-red maple leaf up by its stalk, lays it carefully across her palm and thinks of Bernie doing the same three and a half thousand miles away in an Afghan desert.

She adds a few more details about her life these past weeks, replies to Bernie’s questions from her previous letter, asks questions of her own (the sort Bernie is able to answer, about how she is and the tricks her younger colleagues have been up to), reaches the end of another page and reluctantly signs off.

‘Stay safe, soldier. Serena x’

*

Serena doesn’t properly remember why she decided that writing to a soldier she doesn’t know would be a good idea. A patient, she thinks, an ex-serviceman who had served in Iraq, who told her how letters from home were always eagerly awaited, how some of his comrades had no one to write to them.

Yes, that’s right. It had preyed on her mind for days, the thought of being so far from home, of seeing your friends receiving letters and having no one to write to you. So she Googled it, signed up to a service and was matched with Captain Berenice Wolfe, RAMC, on the strength on them both being female surgeons of a similar age. The first letter took her a week to write, another week to pluck up the courage to actually send. She had waited on tenterhooks for a reply, eagerly checking through the post on the mat every evening when she arrived home; when it was finally there in her hands it had taken her a glass of wine to open it.

That was several years ago now. The sense of anticipation has never faded; if anything it’s grown. Bernie’s letters have got her through her mother’s illness and death, through fighting with Ellie, through all the hard days and hospital politics, through the discovery that she had a sister and has a nephew; her own have supported Bernie through the loss of friends and colleagues and strangers, through the divorce that was in its early stages when they first started corresponding and the long-distance rebuilding of her relationship with her kids, through coming to terms with her sexuality.

‘Your handwriting is a sight for sore eyes,’ Bernie writes in one letter, and Serena feels the same. She feels like she’s floating for at least a day after she receives each of Bernie’s letters, is good-natured enough with patients and colleagues alike that the juniors look at her askance, smiles enough that Raf and Fletch can only think that she’s seeing someone.

‘I’d like to meet you, next time I’m back in England,’ Bernie writes. ‘Do you think that would be ok?’

‘There’s nothing I’d like more,’ Serena replies, grinning like a fool, her heart racing at the prospect even though it’s at least months away. She slips a photo of herself into the envelope too, writes on the back: ‘So you know who to look for!’ There’s a photo of Bernie tucked into her reply; Serena spends far longer than she would admit to staring at it, tucks it into the corner of the frame containing a photograph of Ellie and her mother on her bedside table so it’s the last thing she sees at night and the first thing she sees every morning.

*

Serena picks up the heavy box full of files, sighs at the prospect of a morning full of board meetings as she carries it into the hospital.

‘Morning Raf,’ she says as they pass in the entrance to Wyvern Wing. ‘What are you doing out here?’

‘We’ve got an injured soldier coming in. Sounds like a Darwin case so I’m just part of the welcoming committee.’

‘Well I’m in meetings all morning, page me if you need me.’

‘Will do. See you later.’

Serena gets so caught up in preventing a fight across the boardroom table that she forgets all about the injured soldier. By the time she gets back down to AAU she’s frustrated, wants nothing more than a strong, hot coffee and a juicy surgery to get her teeth into. She’s just about to ask Raf if there’s anything promising on her afternoon list when she hears a name being whispered and the folders she’s holding slip from her grasp.

 _Berenice Wolfe_.

‘Serena? Are you ok?’ Raf asks.

‘Yes, yes fine,’ she manages. ‘I just– I’m sorry, would you excuse me?’

She dashes up to Darwin, her heart pounding and her breath shallow, stands by the desk and looks around almost frantically. Then Zosia comes out of the side room and she catches a glimpse of Bernie before the door closes, has to lean against the desk because her legs feel suddenly weak.

‘How’s she doing?’ she asks Zosia.

‘Very well, considering.’

‘Is it alright if I pop in?’

‘Uh, yes, of course,’ Zosia replies, frowning.

Serena slips into the room before she can ask any questions and quietly closes the door behind her, aware it won’t prevent curious eyes but not wanting this conversation to be overheard. She glances at Bernie’s chart and then at the woman herself, her heart aching at the sight of her in a hospital gown.

‘I had no idea you were this desperate to meet me,’ she says softly, not wanting to startle her.

Bernie opens her eyes, frowning as she tries to place the voice, blinks as Serena comes closer and then stares at her in disbelief. ‘Serena?’

‘Of all the hospitals, in all the towns, in all the world, she’s wheeled into mine.’

Serena reaches out a little cautiously and touches Bernie’s hand; Bernie grips her fingers as tight as she can.

‘It was one of my biggest regrets, when I thought I might die – that I would die never having met you.’ There’s a tremble in her voice and tears in her eyes; Serena gently strokes her cheek, smiles through her own tears.

‘You didn’t, darling.’

Bernie turns her face and presses a kiss to Serena’s palm then closes her eyes and turns away, suddenly tense. They fly open again when Serena leans over her and kisses her forehead, her lips lingering there, her fingertips drawing tiny circles on Bernie’s cheek. Their eyes meet, and Serena slowly shifts so she can kiss Bernie’s dry lips.

‘Sorry,’ she whispers, smiling, when she draws away a little.

‘Don’t be,’ Bernie smiles, blinking back tears. ‘I’ve been dreaming of doing that for– oh, for so long, Serena.’

‘Me too,’ Serena admits. ‘Although not quite like this.’

‘Hospital bed not your idea of a perfect first date?’ Bernie teases.

‘No, but it’ll do for now.’

‘For now?’ Bernie asks hopefully.

‘You just focus on getting better, darling. Then I can take my big macho army medic out on a proper date.’

*       *       *

 

When Serena goes to see Bernie later that evening, before heading home, Bernie is sat up in bed clutching an envelope.

‘For me?’ Serena asks once she’s kissed her hello, her eyes lighting up.

‘Old fashioned, I know,’ Bernie says, embarrassed, fiddling with the corners of the paper. ‘And redundant really, seeing as we’re both in the same place at last.’

But Serena just smiles and pats her hand. ‘Romantic though, seeing the words in your handwriting, knowing you touched the same paper. Far better than email.’

‘You– you don’t mind? Don’t think it’s silly?’

‘Why would I mind getting love letters from you?’ Serena asks, coaxing the envelope from between Bernie’s fingers and slipping it safely into her handbag. ‘Plus it’s much more exciting than the papers I’m supposed to be reading tonight,’ she adds with a wink.

*

Their kiss spreads like wildfire via the jungle drums, the flames only fanned by Serena’s subsequent frequent visits up to Darwin. So when Bernie is temporarily quarantined she sees no reason not to have Zosia pass notes back and forth between them, even if it does make her feel like a teenager. She only hopes her reputation is scary enough to keep any curious eyes from peeking, doesn’t mind everyone knowing about them but is less keen on them knowing exactly what they say to each other in private. Jac’s raised eyebrow and Mo’s smirk strongly suggest that she’s become too soft.

*

Bernie is discharged on the condition that she has someone to stay with. Serena ignores her protests and insists, adding more fuel to the fire even before they set foot outside, but she finds it doesn’t grate as much as being gossiped about usually does.

Bernie’s still tired, almost falls asleep on the sofa in front of the TV but Serena nudges her awake and sends her to her makeshift room in the study, goes to check on her ten minutes later to find her snoring softly, hair splayed across the pillow. Once Jason has gone to bed too she sits up on her own, half listens to the news as she uncaps her pen and writes a letter to leave propped against the kettle when she goes to work in the morning.

The next night she finds a reply lying on her pillow, goes back downstairs to tell Bernie off because she shouldn’t be climbing that many stairs yet.

‘I didn’t.’

‘Then how–’

‘Jason,’ Bernie says a little sheepishly, and Serena feels herself melt.

*

When Bernie’s well enough to be on her own they decide it’s best for her to get her own place – just for a little while, so they can do the whole dating thing – and they revert back to letters sent through the post. Of course it isn’t the only way they communicate: there are texts to check on each other throughout the day and to arrange meeting up, phone calls on Serena’s lunch break or lasting well into the night, drinks and dinners and evenings on the sofa, hand holding and kissing. But Bernie still finds it hard to talk – about her feelings, about difficult subjects – and she isn’t used to speaking to Serena yet, finds it far easier to express herself on paper where she can take her time considering each word, each sentence.

After the first letter Serena finds herself looking forward to getting home each evening again. Not as much as when Bernie was there in person, but the heady anticipation of her letter on the doormat is a passable substitute.

*

Serena isn’t supposed to be in on Bernie’s first day working on Keller, a case of unfortunate timing she apologises profusely for when she realises. She wants to be there for Bernie somehow though, so slips a letter into the internal mail just before she leaves the previous evening. And then, of course, her bloody car has to go and break down, so quickly dropping in to pick up a pair of shoes turns into hours spent avoiding Ric and calling the garage.

‘Engine been growling or whining?’

She whips around, smiling for the first time since she arrived, as Bernie walks across the car park towards her. ‘Funny, you don’t look like a mechanic.’

‘Picked up a few things over the years. And,’ she adds, reaching to touch Serena’s fingers, ‘I’m a dab hand at following YouTube tutorials. Shall we see if we can get you to the show on time?’

‘Saving your damsel in distress?’ Serena teases.

‘Something like that,’ Bernie smiles, pulling her phone from her pocket. They both move to lean over the open car bonnet, their arms touching. ‘Thanks, by the way,’ she says softly as she waits for the page to load. ‘For the letter. Made my day.’

‘More than being seconded up to Darwin for a trauma case?’

‘Definitely,’ Bernie replies shyly, cheeks pinking slightly.

*

The first time they sleep together Bernie inscribes her words on Serena’s body with fingers and tongue. Then, emboldened, she murmurs them against Serena’s skin. Then she moans and cries them aloud, her love finally given voice beyond the page.

It’s far from ideal: she’s working an early the next morning and Serena doesn’t have to be in until later, so no lazy morning in bed, not even shared sleepy coffee over the kitchen table. Bernie silences her alarm as quickly as she can, forces herself out of bed and down the hall to shower. It isn’t easy: Serena is smiling in her sleep, her hair tousled by Bernie’s fingers, a bruise from Bernie’s teeth blossoming on her shoulder, the smell of sex lingering on the sheets.

Bernie slips back into the room before she goes, brushes a kiss to Serena’s cheek and leaves a folded note on her empty pillow.

*

It doesn’t last long, the two of them living apart. They spend all of their time together anyway, the nights sleeping apart becoming rarer and rarer, usually at Serena’s because it’s more comfortable and more homely, because it interferes less with Jason’s schedule, because there’s always food in the fridge. Bernie’s had a key since she was discharged from hospital, lets herself in if they don’t leave the hospital together; she has a drawer for her clothes and a selection of shirts hanging in Serena’s wardrobe, a toothbrush in the cup in the bathroom, a mug assigned to her by Jason in the kitchen cupboard.

Serena asks her in a letter. She spends all morning at work thinking about it, decides this is the best way because it means Bernie won’t be put on the spot, something that tends to prompt her to panic, Serena knows. Then she spends all afternoon deciding what words to use, how to phrase it, watches Bernie from across the ward and feels her heart race and swell at the thought of coming home to her every night, of Bernie always being there.

She takes so long pondering it that in the end she only has five minutes to actually write the damn thing before they and Jason leave for the evening. She thinks about putting it off but no, she wants to ask now. So instead of something elegant and romantic and thoughtful she writes just two sentences on a sheet of paper carefully torn from the back of her diary: ‘I want to spend all my days and nights with you, my love. Move in with me? Serena x’

Serena can’t settle, after being told off by Jason for fidgeting too much in front of Mary Beard takes herself upstairs and runs a bath, sinks into the hot water with a sigh. Bernie has been shooting worried looks at her all evening and Serena is tempted to just ask her now, to blurt it out – but that would put Bernie on the spot, and she promised herself she wouldn’t do that. By the time she gets out and dries herself off she feels much better, smiles reassuringly at Bernie and blames it on a long day, kisses her tenderly and feels Bernie soften with relief.

Serena has a heads of department meeting first thing in the morning. They walk onto the ward together so Serena can pick up the papers she needs; she lingers after Bernie has started her rounds and takes the note from her diary, places it carefully on Bernie’s keyboard where she can’t possibly miss it. When she comes back down Bernie is in theatre but there’s a post-it note stuck to her monitor: ‘Yes. B x’

Serena peels it off and presses it to her chest, a wide smile on her face. Then she slips out and goes to watch Bernie at work, gazes at her through the window for a whole minute before speaking. ‘Going alright?’ she asks, fighting to tone her grin down a little. She thinks she’s succeeded, but then Bernie meets her eye through the glass.

‘Checking up on me, Ms Campbell?’ Bernie teases.

‘Just wanted to let you know that I escaped. And that I got your note,’ she adds, holding her hand up so Bernie can see the corner of the fluorescent pink post-it. ‘Albie’s later?’

‘Think I’d rather just head straight home, if you don’t mind,’ Bernie replies. Even from here, even with the surgical mask, Serena knows that she’s smiling.

‘I don’t mind at all,’ Serena says, her heart swelling and tears pricking her eyes at the thought of her home being Bernie’s, of it being _theirs_.

*

‘It would be odd to carry on now, I suppose,’ Bernie says a little wistfully the following weekend, carefully slipping the box containing all of Serena’s letters to her onto the shelf beside the box containing all of her letters to Serena.

‘Perhaps,’ Serena says, coming up behind her and sliding her arms around Bernie’s waist, rising up on her toes a little so she can press a kiss to the curve where neck meets shoulder. ‘But I can’t say that I’d be opposed.’


End file.
